


my best decision (has yet to be made)

by only_one_word



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bedsharing, Cuddling, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Scenting, Stiles is Alpha Bait, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7134197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_one_word/pseuds/only_one_word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows a couple things about Derek:<br/>Derek doesn’t like to speak in full sentences in the morning<br/>Similarly, he doesn’t like asking for help</p>
            </blockquote>





	my best decision (has yet to be made)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for wanderingthroughwonder. The prompt:  
> Werewolf Conference/Convention. I’d really love if you could include werewolfbait/alphabait!stiles and mutual pining. Emissary Stiles would be a plus, too! Include whatever extra pack you might want!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> There is some lack of communication and misunderstandings. Some swearing, minimal violence- mostly manhandling from strange werewolves. The setting is some time before the alpha pack, near the end of the school year, and Scott is still similar to season one Scott.

Stiles knows a couple things about Derek:

  
Derek doesn’t like to speak in full sentences in the morning

  
Similarly, he doesn’t like asking for help

  
Neither of those things explain why he is sitting in Stiles’ room, twiddling his thumbs, telling him about the Alpha pack he needs to make an impression on at this fancy Werewolf Convention. Oh right, because, by the way Stiles, those exist and you could’ve gone to one of them months ago. And avoided all of their problems, if it weren’t for Derek’s inability to trust people. Oh, but you can’t yell at him for that like you can Scott because his last girlfriend literally burned his house down.  
Jesus, what is his life, at this point. Stiles spins aimlessly back and forth, remembering when the only lie he needed to get out of Danny’s question was explaining away just Derek’s presence. Now he has to help construct this idea of . . . of . . .

  
“What did you say made a pack impressive again? I think you already have the whole, muscle,” Stiles waves a hand at Derek’s torso that has managed to become more bulky since he last saw him. It was only a couple of months ago, when Stiles had helped him train Isaac like he had Scott- but better. At some point Derek and him collectively realized that beating up baby werewolves didn’t help nearly as much as having heart-to-hearts and, incidentally, long runs in the woods.

  
Right then, Derek is staring at him incredulously, eyebrows reaching in vain for his hairline. The twist of his mouth manages to look both scornful and hopeful, and Stiles really doesn’t need to have such a huge index of Derek’s expressions backlogged in his brain.

  
“What do- you’re helping me?”

  
As nice as it is for Stiles to be able to look at Derek like he just suggested they forgot icecream in the rain, or something equally contextually absurd, he feels like this conversation isn’t getting him far.

  
“Of course, dude. That’s like, the most normal thing in this situation. You get threatened with murder, again, and I help save your life from never ending peril. So, lay it on me. What do we gotta do?”

  
-

  
They, specifically Stiles and Derek, have a lot of work to do. Unpleasant, and weird, stuff. Like somehow convince his dad to let him go on this trip to New York with a previously arrested adult. (”Stiles, that was your fault.” “I already apologized, god will you give get over that?” “No.”) Plus, Stiles has to always smell like pack, which is much more difficult than he anticipated. On the trip, they have to find Boyd and Erica and hope they didn’t get chewed up and spit out by the Alpha pack’s cronies before they rescue them. And finally- this is Stiles’ job, because Derek can’t be trusted- convince the betas to join Derek again so that he isn’t a complete disgrace when they show up in the New York territory.

  
This is all a piece of cake in the end, honestly, but Stiles should have known that something was up once they got to the Werewolf Convention and it all started to go straight to hell. As werewolf things usually did.

  
-

  
“Stiles, you want me to agree to a road trip,” the Sheriff says, like he was reading it off the paper where Stiles has given him all the details, including every hotel and pit stop along the way. He knows his dad better than anyone, and he definitely wouldn’t be comfortable sending his son off without knowing every step in the process. Across the table from his dad Derek is staring down at his hands, and hasn’t moved since the sheriff had told him to “sit down, son.” He can’t lie to his dad about the fact that he was going with Derek Hale to New York for two weeks in the summer. He also can’t tell him about werewolves.

Playing Derek’s terrible history card was a dirty, awful, trick that Stiles was glad that Derek doesn’t mind him using. At least, not when it’s partially true.

  
“I know it’s a lot, but he never picked up, um,” Stiles says, trying to avoid Laura’s name. “Their apartment from before. I kept bugging him about it when we were doing community service together, and the only thing stopping him is that he would be going alone. So . . .”

  
Stiles trails off hopefully, glancing between the two of them, squirming in his seat at the head of the table while the Sheriff rubs his forehead. During the time Stiles had been spending recently with the werewolf, he had decided to reintroduce the topic of Derek before he got caught lying about it, and it was paying off very nicely in that moment that he could see it in his dad’s eyes that he agreed.

  
“Fine, kid. But you’re checking in every night, and I mean it. New York is too far, but it says that the lease expires at the end of this year, doesn’t it?”

  
Derek nods slowly. “I could buy another four years, but I don’t want to use all that money if I don’t have to.”

  
And this _is_ all true. Stiles had made a huge fuss of it as soon as he found out, blocking out a whole four days of the trip for painstakingly going through Laura’s things so Derek could finally not worry about it. The memory of going through his own closet at nine is still all too real, and he isn’t leaving it until some unspecified date for Derek experience alone.

  
“I understand.”

  
Stiles perks up.

  
“So that’s a yes, right? What I just heard was a yes?”

  
The sheriff looks at him with obvious amusement, and ruffles his short hair. “Yes, Stiles, you can go.”

  
He didn’t bother hiding his enthusiasm, and fist pumps, almost knocking something off the table in the process. Derek catches it and rolls his eyes, but lets himself get dragged upstairs shortly after Stiles’ shout “we should pack!” even though he could have resisted with his wolf strength. It’s still a month before everything could start. The two of them thud up the stairs and Stiles throws open the door with a gentle bang.

  
“This is awesome! I’m proud of you big guy, you used your words and everything.”

Stiles’ grin fades a bit when he realizes all over again what he has Derek doing, and he bumps shoulders on his way past him to the big box labeled “wolf pack research.”

  
“Thanks, though, for telling me. And doing all this.”

  
When Derek sits down, he has a slight smile on his face despite the grim subjects from earlier. Nerves from knowing just how bad Derek could get when his family is mentioned gave way to a dizzy feeling of relief.

  
“I should thank you for agreeing to be my emissary.”

  
Stiles scoffs.

  
“You think I mind? I get to make Deaton fess up trade secrets, like, every day now. He’s going to hate it.” Scott had thought Stiles was nuts when he seriously demanded mentorship just for the conference. Deaton hardly looked phased. Even though he was his best bro, he didn’t understand the art of lying without lying. Which is for the best, probably. Scott still agreed to think about becoming Derek’s pack if Derek agreed to never ever use his alpha abilities on him, and Stiles couldn’t bring him to ask anything more than that even though the irritated looks Scott kept giving the ever increasing pile of notes were getting at him. Stiles would smooth it out once he got back.

  
“Really, Stiles,” Derek says seriously. “Thank you.” His eyes slowly seep red, and Stiles gets captivated for a second with the box in one hand and his toes curling against the carpet. Stiles clears his throat.

  
“You’re welcome.”

  
Highlighters and crumpled up pieces of debunked information suddenly got very interesting, and Stiles scratches at the back of his neck before rubbing his forehead. When things like this happen with Derek, like they were lately, he just didn’t know what to do with it. Objectively he could recognize the warm feeling in his chest could be reciprocated by Derek with how friendly he’s being, but another part of him doubts that it actually is that way. How Stiles wants to see it. Distracting himself, he picks up a random sheet of paper.

  
“True or false: werewolf noses don’t like perfume?”

  
This game that they played whenever Stiles just couldn’t take being curious anymore is safe ground. It was tempting to add “do you like scrawny, pale, humans that happen to be annoying” to the list but chickens out every time. Derek, oblivious to the thoughts going through Stiles’ head, just scrunches up his nose.  
“I think we’re more sensitive to smells, but that doesn’t mean we can’t like it. Your deodorant smells good after you run with Isaac.”

  
Stiles couldn’t help the heat the races up his face. So far, he had contained himself very well, and the barely contained reaction is all Derek’s fault.

  
“You smell me when we’re running?” Stiles demands, horrified.

  
Derek seems to realize what he had said.

  
“No! Jesus, Stiles, I just noticed the pack scent, is all.”

  
That’s worse, but it only makes Stiles’ heart give a painful lurch in his chest. That Derek can hear. Crap.

  
“I’m pack?” He asks quietly, not even trying to keep the small amount of reverence out of his voice. Isaac has cried on his shoulder, like, twice, and he has saved Derek’s sorry werewolf ass, but neither of those things mean anything really. Derek’s eyes keep flashing quickly between red and their usual ridiculous color, as if he’s incredibly annoyed by the question.

  
“You’re my emissary, of course you’re pack.”

  
“Oh,” Stiles says. “Well, um. Do werewolves pee on trees to mark their territory?”

  
Derek looks as scandalized as Stiles expected when he wrote the question down, and Stiles laughs.

  
-

  
Stiles juggles the two books on scenting that he has managed to find, ready to bulldoze over whatever ideas Derek had for keeping it from him until the conference.

“Smelling like pack” is a difficult, and year long, process that involves scents mixing until dead skin cells are involved (gross) and Deaton had looked amused while Stiles gaped at the pages for a solid ten minutes. He hopes that Derek is just as clueless as he was, but he also knows that this is something that Derek would hide and try to deal with. Silently. Even though Stiles agreed to help him.

  
“You better open this door, Hale!” Stiles calls, banging his fist, then finally slapping the dusty tombs against the half rebuilt Hale house. If he has to, he can just break in through a window, or shimmy in through a crack, but Derek can easily just slip out again if Stiles makes the wrong move.

  
“Der- holy!” The door collapses inward- letting Stiles fall against a body that was most definitely not Derek Hale.

“You’re not Derek,” Stiles says breathlessly, staring at not-Derek’s stomach. Something about the moment dimly reminds him of someone, but-

“Thanks for noticing,” Erica says flatly, without her usual- recent?- enthusiasm. She crosses her arms over her chest, causing Stiles to blink and reorient himself, after almost doing something embarrassing. Behind her, Boyd has his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Isaac has just lifted his head up from a pile of blankets.

Derek is no where in sight.

  
“This is- wow. Are you guys back for good? Because I have this whole convincing speech planned and it would be a shame-”

  
“Save it, Stilinski,” Erica snaps. “We heard about the alpha pack because we were there. They sent us back to deliver the message you guys apparently already got. Thanks for telling them that, by the way.”

“Whoa, uh. Where’s Derek then?” They couldn’t have buried a body that quickly.

  
“Here.”

  
Stiles jumps a foot in the air, cursing and jabbing at Derek’s side while he stares impassively. Giving up with a huff he stomps inside. Isaac is laughing at him, so he flips him off on his way to set up an area to house this conversation. Erica and Boyd will be difficult to convince to trust Derek again, if they ever trusted him at all, he knows that. Unfortunately he forgot that it probably won’t be the best to come from Stiles either, and he can’t force Isaac to believe it. Hoping that Isaac will chime in is all he has.

“Come on, gather round,” he calls once he’s set up the table.

Derek doesn’t seem impressed with Stiles’ plan but does what he asks, scrunching up next to him at the fold up table on a fold up chair. They are better than nothing.

  
“I know Derek’s a dick,” he starts once he realizes Erica is going to stay focused on examining her claws that she has shifted into. “But he’s changed since the last time you were here. More importantly, he’s willing to change more if you guys are willing to stick around to help him.”

  
Silence descends and Stiles tries not to fidget. Ends up remembering he needs to refill his prescription, talk to Scott about lacrosse again, maybe sneak another peak at the Hale fire before they went off into the wolf’s den.

  
“When you told me this plan, I thought you would talk longer,” Derek says.

  
“You guys suck at this,” Isaac says, pulling up a chair and it feels right. After staring at each of them for a moment, he breathes out roughly through his nose. “Just because he did awful in the beginning doesn’t mean he has to stay the same. My dad-” Isaac’s voice catches on the end of the word and he scowls. “My dad is like how the alphas treated you, before. They both chose to do what they did then, and Derek’s not like that. It’s why I stayed.”

  
The fight breaks out before Stiles human eyes can even register it, with Erica’s claws at Isaac and Boyd holding on to Derek’s arm and Erica’s.

  
“You stayed because you’re a coward,” Erica hisses, and it’s the first time since the bite that Stiles has looked at her eyes and seen them without makeup on. They’re flashing a bright gold.

  
“No, you left because you’re a coward,” Isaac snaps back. It’s a stalemate between them, Stiles heart thumping erratically.

  
“Neither of you are cowards,” Derek says quietly. The entire room seems to look at him, including Stiles’ wide eyes. He has to have a death wish, challenging the both of them like that, but they don’t move to attack. No one dares to breath for a couple of long seconds until Derek continues, resting his elbows on the table and slumping his shoulders. Inside of his chest his heart is pounding a calmer rhythm as Stiles realized that nothing worse is going to happen.

  
“Making the decision took a lot of courage, from all three of you. And I’m sorry.”

  
One time Stiles had asked Derek what he said he was sorry for, whenever he caught him saying it absentmindedly. The last time Derek had simply said everything.

  
The betas knew that without having to be told.

  
“Fine, asshole,” Erica says haughtily, glancing at Body to confirm it- his composure is shaken, but only barely. Her face softens at the look on Derek’s face. “We’re staying. Good luck getting rid of us.”

  
-

  
Stiles tries to stay out of the pack’s bonding, considering it was their first reunion and it’s- special, in a way. The problem is, he forgot his shoes. His dad ignored a lot of werewolf shenanigans, and his shoes are most definitely not going to be the first thing that tips him off to something weird going on.

  
“Why are you inside?” Derek asks, following Stiles as he tries to search for his shoes. He never should have taken them off in the ashy building, no matter how weird it felt to walk around with them on. They were just shoes. People wear them indoors all the time.

  
“Stiles,” Derek says, catching his arm. “You could not leave.”

  
That’s practically a request for him to set up shelter in the house and never go back home coming from Derek.

  
Derek, who is pulling him closer by the elbow, until he pays attention to the words. For no explicable reason, Derek’s eyes are ringed red again. Outside Erica is shouting something about not being fair if Derek is on a team, because of him being an alpha. He can feel the breeze already sneaking in, which has to be why goosebumps are tingling up and down his arms.

  
“I’ll,” Stiles pauses to swallow, for a second not sure what he will do. “I’ll call my dad, just to check.”

  
Before he can do that, Derek is still pulling him closer, and Stiles goes, blinking rapidly when he feels Derek’s breath ghosting over the crook of his neck. He can’t help the shiver that goes through him.

  
“You do that,” Derek says as he pulled away.

  
-

  
For someone who was furious with Derek only a month ago, Erica looks dangerously close to crying or eviscerating them. Boyd is holding her close as she stares up at Derek like he has single-handedly squished her heart. Derek, for his part, looks absolutely panicked and unsure.

  
“And you can’t take any of us?” Boyd says slowly.

 

“Not if he doesn’t want to offend someone pretty badly,” Stiles says.

  
Isaac is off doing whatever it was he did these days, probably hanging out with Scott. That makes Stiles feel better, knowing his best friend won’t be left by himself for weeks while he left for New York. It isn’t strictly necessary to go to all the stops because they already have Erica and Boyd back, but it would be weird to cross off everything on the way just to save time after presenting the whole plan. Stopping a lot will give a chance for Derek to acclimate to the distance between his pack and himself anyway.

  
“We want you to stay,” Boyd huffs, brushing Erica’s hair out of her eyes and not looking at Derek. The words affect Derek regardless, and they melt into a tight hug that makes Stiles’ chest feel uncomfortably tight. He is not going to cry. He won’t.

  
“Stiles, stop sniffling and come over here,” Erica says, waving a hand, and Stiles slips under it, sandwiching himself between Erica’s soft hair and Derek’s by Boyd’s broad hand to his back. With them all together like this, Stiles thinks he understands what pack smells like. Like Derek said before, it’s a good smell.

  
“I’m going to miss you guys,” Stiles whispers.

  
“You too, Batman,” Erica says, then head butts him as gently as a werewolf could.

  
“You should leave now before I make you both stay,” she adds.

  
The four part reluctantly, and Stiles swipes under his eyes while Derek watches with amusement.

  
“The pack bond really gets to you, man.”

  
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, and pushes him towards the door.

  
“You’re going to have to get used to me talking eventually.”

  
The camaro is packed full of the things they need, including boxes for Laura’s things and a safe filled with strains of wolfsbane because Stiles woke up to nightmares about chopping off Derek’s arm more often than he likes to think about. The day is a typical beautiful spring day, and it’s perfect for a real road trip, one that includes all of his friends and no worries about being mauled to death at some point between the beginning of the trip and the end. Erica stands in front of the car, stripping off her shirt to throw to Boyd, who catches it and throws it in a trash bag.

  
Stiles snaps his head to the side to avoid naked werewolves, only to get a eye full of Boyd trying to convince Derek to take his shirt off, too.

  
“What are you doing? Oh my god, why is everyone stripping,” Stiles says helplessly, covering his eyes. Not that it matters; the image of Derek grumpily staring off into the distance in all his bare-chested glory while Boyd smugly held up a miraculously unripped Henley is burned into his retinas forever.

  
“I don’t know if it will last the whole two weeks, but it’s worth a shot,” Boyd says.

  
“Scent, Stiles,” Derek says absently, poking through the luggage- really just a pile of carefully organized bags in the backseat- for a new shirt.

  
The connection should have been obvious, Stiles realizes. At least with how much he has been studying scent, specifically, because that is the trickiest part of convincing people to trust Derek’s pack was strong. Keeping it as fresh as possible turns out to be the most agreeable solution, short of some kind of blood-oath and maybe a few animal scarifies. Stiles thinks he meant that as an exaggerations, but with the books Deaton has been giving him, he’s not sure that’s not at least possible. The actual logistics of pack scent involves deliberate scenting, which isn’t possible so far away, but turns out to be just as important to the betas as it is to Derek’s image.

  
As for Stiles, he mostly can only appreciate the pack scents individually.

  
“Come on,” Derek calls from inside the car. “What are you waiting for?”

  
Stiles only manages to open his mouth to respond when Scott’s howl starts up in the woods, causing all of the werewolves to get defensive, glow eyes and all.  
“What’s he doing?” Stiles asks. “I told him about this weeks ago.”

  
“He might have talked to Deaton.”

  
Fuck, that’s the last thing that Stiles wanted. Deaton would tell Scott everything-

  
“Let’s go, go, go.” Stiles jumps into the passenger seat, pressing up against the window to wave, feeling a pang when he sees how riled they all are. They shouldn’t have to leave them like this.

  
Derek drives off before he can change his mind.

  
“We have to leave at some point, Stiles. Call them after.”

  
“I’m calling them as soon as Scott isn’t there,” Stiles says.

  
Derek snorts. Stiles is the worst best friend.

  
-

  
“You left! Did you know you could die?”

  
“Look whatever Deaton told you was-”

  
“How did you know I talked to Deaton?”

  
Derek laughs, but not in a nice way. Stiles shoots him a dark look, but he refuses to look guilty at all. The hotel room has terrible lighting, but even that makes Derek’s face look good, laugh lines included.

  
“Make him go away, Stiles,” Scott says, the Skype call distorting his voice just a little more than usual because of his fangs.

  
“He can’t go anywhere he won’t hear you, bro,” Stiles says.

  
“I don’t care!”

  
Derek laughs again, but this time it’s at Stiles’ dramatic gestures trying to get him to do what Scott asked without being a huge jerk about it. He lifts up his book and goes though. That’s all that matters in the end.

  
“Look, Scott, Deaton’s not as much of a help as he says he is. I read the same books he was getting his information from, and the biggest risk I have is the same thing all the werewolves back in Beacon Hills have.”

  
“What are you-”

  
“I’m helping protect you, Scott, alright?” Stiles takes deep breaths. “The alpha pack can’t come to Beacon Hills. I’ll be fine. Emissary’s are protected.”

  
Scott’s expression is stormy, but he nods slowly. “If you’re sure.”

  
Stiles smiles, wishing he was there to hug his friend. “I’m sure. When we get back, I’ll take you and Allison out for icecream okay? Make Chris have to agree or else somehow.” It’s a promise he can deliver on, since he has already gone into treaty negotiations prepared to get a whole house’s worth of money from their business.

They sign off after a quick goodbye, and Stiles pulls out his phone to text his dad.

  
“You lied, just then.” Derek says. He almost doesn’t know it’s Derek, because he’s still reading his book, brows furrowed.

  
“Huh?” he asks.

  
“You’re not sure you’re going to be fine?” Derek asks, raising his head from his book to look at Stiles directly.

  
“Uh, well. I- it’s nothing.” Or as close to the end as it can be end on Stiles’ scale of the deadliness of deadly situations.

  
“Tell me.”

  
“I just- I’m not worried about my life, specifically, I’m worried about the pack. We can’t not do this.”

  
“Stiles?”

  
Stiles looks up from his phone, nervously. Derek flashes his eyes at him, even though it doesn’t really do anything.

  
“We’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  
-

  
The next three stops are more of the same as that night: phone calls, texts, and skype. Until Derek starts to get antsy.

  
“It will pass, don’t-“

  
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Stiles snaps. “I don’t know how, but I feel it to, and I’m not looking forward to-”

  
Derek just face plants on Stiles. There is a very real moment of panic as Stiles worries about everything from wolfsbane to poison, but Derek is just sniffing him.  
“You asshole! I thought you were dying, not smelling me.”

  
Derek hums in his chest and Stiles can feel it in his bones. With the only arm he only has free, he pats at Derek’s back, breathing deeply so that he doesn’t actually get crushed by a werewolf. If he tries to look, he knows he could spot the triskele under the thing fabric of his t-shirt. Under his palm, Derek’s shoulders dwarfed his scrawny hands, flexing muscles radiating heat gently against it.

  
“There, there, big guy.”

  
“I miss them,” Derek says, so quietly that Stiles almost thinks it’s just another breath. That, more than the pounds of solid werewolf, squeezes a breath out of him.

  
“Me too,” he whispers back. That night, they don’t even turn on the TV or unpack the laptop to skype anyone and Stiles passes out way before any reasonable bedtime. It’s just the two of them breathing quietly and sinking slowly into the deepest sleep Stiles’ has had in months, until Stiles is jerking up to hurriedly text his dad that no, he isn’t dead, just was napping. He glares blearily at the screen, knowing that now that he’s awake he’ll have to take off his pants, probably and-  
Derek shuts the light off and wrestles Stiles back into a more comfortable position. Not that it’s particularly difficult for him to not only a) make Stiles lay horizontal and b) confiscate his phone to misuse for his own texting purposes, which Stiles’ protests halfheartedly until he finds hims eyelids drifting shut on their own. Snuggled up so closely to Stiles, he can feel Derek’s quiet laugh.

  
“I told him it was from me. Sleep, Stiles.”

  
He does.

  
It’s . . . Nice.

  
-

  
After that episode, Derek’s a lot more touchy-feeling than he ever was. Stiles is starting to get the idea that this is going to be a thing. Which is fine, because they share a bed at most of the places. It’s actually nicer than Stiles expected to find Derek passed out next to him, or waking up with red eyes staring at him for a few seconds. Not that Stiles thought about what the would be like. Nope. Nada. Not at all.

  
He does notice that Derek’s eyes were red more often, like he was checking on things all the time now. The action is both soothing and unnerving. Stiles thinks about asking him, about what kind of explanation Derek would give, and decides he doesn’t want to know what it is. There’s about to be a lot of strange werewolves in the area looking for weaknesses in the pack. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he notices Derek’s eyes staring at him in the dark again while they stay pressed up close during the full moon. Derek didn’t shift once, that night.

  
-

  
Getting into the place was a relief of sorts. Stiles is tired of sleeping in a different place every night, but he is also tired of being away from his dad. Talking isn’t the same as being there. And he could have sworn he was sneaking things he wasn’t supposed to be eating into his diet while Stiles was away. There isn’t anything concrete, but damn it Derek, Stiles knows his dad, okay?

  
The sheriff probably fakes all of his overprotective fatherliness just to get Stiles to put his guard down.

  
“Stiles, focus,” Derek says shortly, holding both his and Stiles’ bags to be checked in on his stupid shoulders. Taking a long breath through his nose to relax doesn’t work, so he just groans and trudges after Derek. He’ll complain to Derek later when there are less werewolves present. Even outside the sprawling building there’s clearly supernatural people afoot. Stiles spotted at least three werewolves with their faces ducked down to avoid the sun’s glare just like the puny humans on the way to the sophisticated doors.

  
The atmosphere changes with sudden and sharp clarity when the doors open.

  
Eyes are suddenly turned on them from all directions. Stiles wonders how easily he could get murdered in such a big city like New York- and if he recognized the wards outside right, the answer is probably “fairly easily.” A couple of the wolves noticeably sniff the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end when he hears Derek’s growl start.

  
“Back off,” Stiles snaps at a wolf getting too close to Derek, backing up until he’s covering his back ready to-

  
He doesn’t have a chance to do whatever he was thinking because an even bigger werewolf than Derek is stalking forward and yanking the wolf back out of their personal bubble. Stiles doesn’t have any time to be relieved either, because she just turns sharply at Derek, incensed.

  
“Hey! Easy now. Hale, I’m not sure what you were thinking bringing this kid here-”

  
“I’m his emissary-” Stiles says uneasily. This is much less organized than he expected. “I’m sure if you took us to see Alpha Patricia-”

  
Derek stiffens behind him, face angled in such a way that Stiles can’t read him. “This is Alpha Patricia.”

  
“Oh.”

  
Stiles glances around himself. The werewolves have kept a reasonable distance, but not as much as Stiles prefers. And could they stop with the sniffing?

  
“He’s authorized to be here, by the rulebook that you’ve asked me to abide by,” Derek says stiffly.

  
“By what rule?” Patricia asks suspiciously, sweeping her long black hair over her shoulder.

  
Derek flashes his eyes at her. “Stiles is my mate.”

  
-

  
“What the hell, Derek! You do not just spring that on a guy! A very human guy, might I add, who could die from heart failure!”

  
Derek looks embarrassed but not enough to be regretful. Not yet at least.

  
“They could have eaten me!” Stiles adds, sweeping his hands around in a wide gesture while keeping his voice down to a quiet whisper yell. Even though Derek assured him that no werewolf could hear through the walls, it’s always good to be safe.

  
“They didn’t,” Derek says with a frown.

  
“Mates! What does that even mean!” Stiles huffs, pacing across the ground and then collapsing to pull out his pillow and get ready for bed. There would be no way that a certain Hale would keep him from being on time to the conference.

  
“It means that they won’t touch you, and I’m sorry. I think I panicked.”

  
Stiles looks up to see the honestly worried picture that Derek makes. Everything about him, from his face to the way his hands are twitching like he wants to let out his claws, tells Stiles that he’s feeling more strongly about this than he’s willing to say. Which reminds him.

  
“Why were they sniffing me?”

  
“I don’t know,” Derek says, and that must be exactly what has his alpha so freaked out. Stiles ignores the brief twinge of sadness that Derek doesn’t actually want to get together. Mates for werewolves are like the highest status of respect for another person, a whole new level beyond alpha, beta, and omega. It’s nothing personal that Derek wouldn’t choose Stiles for that job, when Stiles wasn’t even responsible enough to take out the trash before he left for the trip to New York. He can still remember his dad’s knowing look over skype from the first night.

  
-

  
“Interesting.”

  
Stiles jumps about a foot in the air.

 

“Who, me? Nope, not really, if you’d like to talk to someone interesting though, boy do I have a story for you-”

  
The werewolf places both of her beautifully manicured hands on the wall near both sides of his head, eyes flashing a deep red that has Stiles’ blood run cold. Derek had just gone for a minute to use the restroom. There wasn’t supposed to be any werewolf for two hours, when breakfast started. If this could tell Stiles anything, it was that him not realizing the danger had to be down to feeling to safe last night even after the looks of all the other alphas. Derek had publicly claimed him.

  
She’s breaking the rules.

  
Stiles might not make it home.

  
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, shuddering when she inhales near his throat, trying to think of some sarcastic comment to stall for time. Dying? Not an option. Though he was less concerned with making an impression on the head alpha than he had been in the beginning.

  
“Not as big of a fan of armani as Danny, but I hear that smells good, too-”

  
A roar sounds from down the hallway and Stiles watches in fascination as Derek lets his fangs drop for the first time he’s seen as an alpha. Muscles ripple with the shift and then he’s thundering down the hallway to meet her in a sudden clash- when had she moved?- falling to the ground with blood dripping everywhere already.  
The alpha isn’t dead, just badly wounded, scowling at the ceiling. Derek lets out a howl the rattles the windows.

  
“So,” Stiles says shakily. “How soon can we leave?”

  
-

  
“Again, I’m very sorry. That’s the worst affront that I have allowed during the conference-”

  
Stiles’ breathes out through his nose. His hands are still shaking slightly, either from fear or adrenaline. “I could have died.”

  
Patricia winces.

  
Derek doesn’t even look at her, just lets his palm fall to Stiles’ neck and he can’t wait to interrogate him about this later, about how it was so easy for all of them to buy it but for now Stiles just pulls his suitcase to the car and jingles the keys obnoxiously. They have a definitive later now that they are leaving for the apartment.  
The car door thuds shut and Stiles closes his eyes carefully. He can hear the sounds of each bag making its way into the back, the quiet exchange of words from Derek and Patricia, the sounds of traffic.

  
Once they’ve sat in silence in the car for about forty minutes, Derek speaks up. “About today-”

  
Stiles sits up and looks at him. Out of all the pack members, Derek’s least likely to have heard about Peter offering Stiles’ the bite, or about the rougue werewolf that came into town looking to maul Stiles. It hits him that if he were to tell Derek, right then, that he would be upset. That he would care that Stiles almost got hurt. The feeling is elating.

  
“Let’s get this over with first okay? Then mates talk.”

  
Derek twitches a smile at him. “Fine.”

  
-

  
The apartment is covered in a fine layer of dust, plain walls devoid of anything personal. There is a blanket on the couch, but other than that it looks like no one lived there. Derek picks his way through the room slowly, like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off.

  
Sunlight streams in through the window onto one of the old newspapers on the table. Stiles doesn’t have to read the word to know it’s about the Hales from how Derek avoids it. The carpet is stained near the couch, and there are a bunch of scratch marks that might have come from Derek’s own claws on the coffee table. Really though, the hardest part comes with Laura’s bedroom. Stile can immediately tell what it was from the blanket nest, Derek’s old clothes mixed with what must be Laura’s, books that Derek would never read- everything from classics to fantasy- bookmarked like she’s going to pick them up at any moment. A bowl of cereal is full of mold on the desk. Derek breathes hard when Stiles opens the desk and reveals Laura’s research, old books, and her deodorant.

  
They stay on the bed with Derek’s head hidden into the blankets and Stiles’ arms wrapped around him for awhile.

  
Stiles can’t take anymore silence once they’ve finished putting every item carefully into the boxes. Derek has even laughed a few times, mostly at Stiles, so it’s as good a time as any. Steeling himself, Stiles turns to look at Derek fully.

  
“Can you answer one question?” Stiles asks. 

  
Derek doesn’t say anything, head bowed down. There isn't anything that Stiles wishes he needed to ask less. 

  
“Did you know I liked you when-” Stiles has to stop, he can't get the rest of the words out. But he doesn't need to. 

  
Derek blinks in confusion, and then surprise. They stare at each other for a moment, while Stiles’ feels the blush on his face steadily get warmer, heart pounding like it’s going to get out of his chest.

  
“I- I’m sorry, Stiles.” Stiles feels impossibly worse and he just- wants to go home. So he can hang out with Scott and ignore the entire two weeks he spent next to Derek. 

  
“Let’s just go.”

  
Derek doesn’t listen, he actually stops the car to stare thoughtfully ahead. Stiles wishes he didn't pick right then to do whatever it was he's doing.

  
“I didn't think you did, Stiles, I swear.” He doesn’t react at all when Stiles cautiously touches his shoulder.

  
“You jerk. I can’t believe you didn’t say anything _sooner_.”

  
But then, Derek doesn’t like asking for help- it’s not so much a surprise he doesn’t talk about his feelings. Stiles monopolizes the radio and Derek's hand for the rest of the ride. For his part, Derek doesn't mind. 

  
-

  
Stiles lets out a full bodied laugh when Erica tackles Derek to the ground, grinning at Isaac who is looking almost friendly towards him. Scott howls in the distance, and one by one the pack’s follow, including the one Stiles manages to fake admirably well for being a human. The alpha pack had inadvertently created a strong pack, by successfully getting rid of a weak one. Just not how they expected to.

  
Derek slips into Stiles’ personal space when he finished, kissing him quickly on the cheek while Erica whoops from not too far off. There are still things for them to figure out, but for now they’re fine. Smiling with a broad grin, unexpectedly, is Boyd, squinting into the sun. Stiles is glad to be back home.


End file.
